


Interlude

by 0Rocky41_7



Series: Guinevere Lavellan: This Shit is Weird [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Trespasser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 11:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18072692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0Rocky41_7/pseuds/0Rocky41_7
Summary: Keeper Deshanna pays Inquisitor Lavellan a visit at the Winter Palace during the Exalted Council--it appears they have more to speak of than even she anticipated.





	Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> I know we never actually met Clan Lavellan’s keeper in DAI but Guinevere, as a mage Inquisitor adopted into Clan Lavellan young, she was always very close to the keeper, so I wondered what they might discuss if she had been at the Winter Palace at the start of Trespasser. 
> 
> **Elvish:  
> **  
>  **Da'len:** young one/child  
>  **Hahren:** Elder (a term of respect)  
>  **Lethallan:** A term of affection
> 
> My view on elves is that they do not think in a very binary way, like humans, so their idea of gender is a lot more fluid and a lot less defined than humans. So in my fics they basically never refer to themselves as a "man (boy)" or "woman (girl)"--they see these as human terms. They'll just say "elf", or another appropriate, gender-neutral term such as "child" or "elder".

After the chaos of Corypheus, life in Skyhold had settled into a far more predictable rhythm. Crises popped up left and right, but things were dealt with in a largely methodical manner. Without the end of the world bearing down on them, they had time to be thorough, prioritize rather than triage, and pace themselves.

                Arriving at the Winter Palace felt a bit like going back to those helter-skelter days. Guinevere was assailed at all sides from people who wanted to talk to her (or _at_ her), from Varric with the joyous news he had given Clan Lavellan a seat on Wycome’s economic council, to Krem, who wanted help distracting the Iron Bull, to the Ferelden ambassador haranguing her about the Inquisition’s status.

                In the most bizarre way, it felt familiar.

                And nearly all of these unexpected meetings and surprises were _good_ things—she had even seen their old bard, Maryden, in the tavern. Thus, it was not hard to slip into the buzz of activity, and Guinevere found herself swinging comfortable from one encounter to the next. By this point, she ought to have learned that life had a particular interest in beaning her out of the blue with things she never saw coming. If she had, perhaps she wouldn’t have been so stunned when, while speaking with Blackwall and Cassandra in the courtyard, she heard a raspy voice calling to her.

                “Guinevere! Guinevere, _da’len_!” She spun on her heel, shock etched into her face.

                “Keeper!” The aging elf hurried up to her first as quickly as she could, and for a moment, Gwen just stared. Then the disorientation began to ebb, and she wrapped her arms tightly around Keeper Deshanna. “You’re here!” she gasped, squeezing her old mentor. The keeper rubbed Guinevere’s back and embraced her in return. “By the gods! You’re here in Halamshiral! But how?” They separated, and took each other in hungrily, sizing up the difference three years could make.

                “We heard you would here for the Exalted Council,” Deshanna replied.

                “We? Have the others come?” Guinevere leaned to the side, as though the rest of the clan might be crouched behind their keeper waiting to spring out.

                “No, just I.”

                “Then who is caring for them?” Guinevere asked, and the obvious answer crept across her face. “Did you—have you—chosen another first?”

                “No! I’ve left them with Cyril.” Ah yes, the second. Guinevere’s hackles smoothed slightly. “And you—” The Keeper squinted, cutting herself off. “What happened to your face, _da’len_? What happened to your vallaslin?” Guinevere _cringed_ , like a child caught at breaking rules.

                “Ah…” She cast about for a white lie, or a kind diversion, or some other, easier way to explain. At length, her shoulders slumped. “I have learned many things about the Elvhen since I left home,” she said quietly. “Not all of them are good things, _hahren_. We…we should talk about that later, privately. I removed the vallaslin, with a spell.”

                “You removed it?” The keeper studied her first closely, but Guinevere would not meet her eyes.

                “Yes. It—I will speak of it later, _hahren._ Please, let us speak of happier things. It has been so long since I laid eyes on you.” She tested a smile to her mentor, and hid her left hand behind her back as the anchor crackled, sending tiny shocks of pain out to her fingertips. It seemed Orlais disagreed with it.

                “You are right. There is much else that needs to be spoken of,” Deshanna said. “Your victory, for one. And the great service you did the clan in Wycome.” Guinevere bowed her head, silently granting a portion of her victory to her keeper’s teaching. “You have saved the clan, I hope you know,” Deshanna said seriously. “I fear without you, there would be nothing left of us. The situation was balanced on the head of a needle.”

                “I know,” Guinevere said, curling her left hand into a loose fist. “I…was so worried I would do the wrong thing, and set off the _shemlen_ …but I couldn’t do _nothing._ ”

                “You did just the right things, _da’len_.” Deshanna put a hand on Guinevere’s arm. “We all owe you a debt of gratitude, and we have prayed ceaselessly to Eglar’nan and Mythal for your safe return.” Gwen smiled, her shoulders relaxing.

                “You should meet my friends,” she said. “I wouldn’t be here without them. Perhaps they were sent to me for your prayers. This is Cassandra—Seeker Pentaghast. It was she who retrieved me from the Conclave after the explosion.” She left out that Cassandra had been prepared to have her executed as a terrorist. “And this is Bl—Thom Rainer, a Grey Warden. He left us after Corypehus’ defeat to join the Wardens.”

                “An honorable calling, as I understand,” Deshanna said. Blackwall nodded in firm agreement.

                “It’s a pleasure,” Cassandra said in her stilted way. “Guinevere always speaks most highly of you, and the rest of Clan Lavellan.”

                “She has learned well to care for them,” Deshanna said, casting a warm look at her first. “I always suspected she would make a worthy keeper, and it seems she has proven me right.”

                “After leading the Inquisition, I imagine being keeper of a clan will feel like retirement,” Blackwall remarked. Guinevere tittered.

                “Yes, it just might,” she said. “Leading the Inquisition was like trial by fire.” She looked to Deshanna. “If you would like, keeper, we can retire to my chambers. We can speak there, and then, if you like, we can meet the rest of the Inquisition.” Deshanna nodded slowly, and Guinevere took her elbow to lead her into the palace.

                Deshanna didn’t _gawk_ —that would be undignified—but she did look all about her with a carefully neutral expression as Guinevere brought her through the palace to the private chambers she had been allotted for her stay.

                “These are yours?” Deshanna asked as Gwen closed the door behind them.

                “Yes, Empress Celene has lent them to me while I’m here for the Council,” she said.

                “To think,” Deshanna breathed to herself. “One of the People, here, in an Orlesian palace.” Guinevere let her mentor walk about and examine the room, and the clothes she had laid out to speak at the Council the next day. The bare-foot keeper looked as out of place among the gilded moldings and the heavy, hand-embroidered furniture as she likely felt, being there. When she had finished her observations, Deshanna turned back to her first. “Let us speak, _da’len_. It seems we have more to discuss than even I expected.”

                Guinevere removed her boots and socks, and they sat down on the plush carpet around her bed, and Guinevere began. From the moment she set out for the Conclave, to her arrival at the Winter Palace, she told Keeper Deshanna everything. She spoke of the refugees and templars, the demons and mages, the Wardens and assassins. She spoke of the Avaar and the Montilyets, the Empress and the Ben-Hassrath, of dragons, dwarves, dungeons, and time-travel. She spoke even of Solas. The keeper let her talk as long as she wanted, and when she was finished, the sky outside glowed tangerine, trending to blood orange.

                “You have had a journey that most hear of only in the old stories,” Deshanna said, folding her hands in her lap. “And from what I see and hear, you have handled it with grace and fortitude. I could not possibly be more proud of you, Guinevere. You have done the People proud, and you have honored all of us.”

                Praise—genuine and flattering—had been heaped on the Inquisition ever since its defeat of Corypheus, but hearing it from the woman who had effectively raised her struck truer than anything else Guinevere had heard. Her throat tightened, and she bowed her head once more.

                “You must be thirsty,” she said softly. “Let me call for something.” She tugged the cord by the bed, and within a few minutes, one of the palace’s elven servants appeared to take orders. Then she rejoined Deshanna on the floor.

                “I must speak honestly with you, _da’len_ ,” Deshanna said.

                “Of course, keeper,” Guinevere said, looking expectantly at her.

                “Do you mean to come back to be our first again?”

                “Of course!” Guinevere searched Deshanna’s eyes. Before, she had claimed that Guinevere had not been replaced—but perhaps she had come to seek Guinevere’s blessing for such a replacement. “What else would I do?”

                “Hear me, child, I don’t mean to hurt you,” Deshanna said. “But with all you have been through…will you be _happy_? You have been through great change—I am not sure you will find it so easy to slide yourself back into your old life. You may find it no longer fits you.” She silenced Gwen with a glance. “You are not the same elf who left us to attend the Conclave, Guinevere. This you cannot deny. I see it even in the way you carry yourself, the way you speak to others. You are changed. This is not bad—but it is true.”

                “Do you…not wish for me to be your first anymore?” Guinevere asked softly. “I do mean to close the Inquisition while I am here. I will leave all this behind me soon.” Deshanna was already shaking her head before Guinevere finished speaking.

                “You will never leave it behind, _da’len._ It is a part of you. But please, do not mistake my concern for guile. Your _home_ is among Clan Lavellan—and I would be honored to have you as my first, as I was when I offered you the position.” Guinevere remembered it well. It had been a few years before she had received her vallaslin, though all had been aware for years before that that Deshanna meant to make Guinevere the clan first. “I worry only for your happiness. I imagine it will be difficult to transition to such a quiet life, after all this.”

                “It will be a relief,” Guinevere insisted. “You don’t know what joy it would give me to wake in the morning and find a sick halla the worst of the problems facing me!”

                “Then we will speak no more of it,” Deshanna said, as the serving elf returned with a tray. She brought them a pot of tea, and two chilled ginger beverages. The pair on the floor thanked her uncomfortably, and Guinevere poured them each a measure of tea.

                “And now I understand you have things to tell me of the Elvhen.” Deshanna wrapped wrinkled hands around her cup of tea, and looked to Guinevere, who shifted about, and fixed her eyes on the beverage tray.

                “Keeper, I still do not have a clear picture of what we were before the fall of Arlathan. But I have learned a few things, and—they may be hard to hear.”

                “I am no callow youth, to flinch from the truth,” Deshanna told her sternly. “I would hear what you have learned.”

                “Very well. The vallaslin, for one,” she said. “Solas told me many things about his journeys in the Fade. One of the things he found there was the truth about the vallaslin. We believe they honor the elven gods.” She shook her head. “They are ancient slave markings, Keeper. The Elvhen kept slaves, and tattooed them to honor god of their owner’s choosing.”

                “And that is why you removed yours?”

                “It felt…wrong,” she said. “I…I know there are things about the Elvhen we would rather not think of—such as their owning slaves—but I feel there can be no future for the People if we do not reckon with the past. And that appears to mean confronting some painful truths. I fear we were wrong about more than we know.” Deshanna lowered her head. “I understand there are many who would not wish to lose their vallaslin, even knowing the truth.” Even Guinevere had been conflicted—they were a _part_ of her—she had _chosen_ them. But she would not allow herself or the Dalish to be mired in the past to their detriment.

                “We have done our best to maintain the culture of old,” Deshanna said quietly, almost to herself. “But every century it recedes further from us, drifting ever more out of our reach, and with no way to retrieve it…”

                “I’m sorry, _hahren_ ,” Guinevere said, her brow knitted above a frown. “You have done your best, as have all the keepers. I would never have learned these things apart from my own extraordinary journey. When else would I have chanced to visit a true temple of Mythal?”

                “So many questions,” Deshanna sighed, shaking her head as she lifted her gaze. “You have brought us answers to questions unasked, and left us with still more questions,” she said. “This will be difficult to break to them.”

                “I know.” Guinevere looked at her hands, cupping her tea. “But I could not bear to lie, or let us all continue on in purposeful ignorance. Better to hear it from our own people, than for someone else to discover it and choose to share it.”

                “Not all will thank you for this,” Deshanna told her.

                “I know.  But you told me a leader must do what is right, not what is popular.”

                “That I did.” A strange smile crossed Deshanna’s face and Guinevere found she could not decipher it. “I will pass on what you have told me.”

                “There’s more—Red Crossing.” She shared with Deshanna the story they had found in the dilapidated temple—that the Dalish had shot first, out of fear, in the fight that concluded with the Exalted March on the Dales. The keeper’s brow seemed to grow heavier still, and Guinevere wished with every fiber of her heart she did not have to share these stories.

                “It is good that they have bestowed the mourning halla,” Deshanna murmured. “That is a start, at least.”

                “I know I have shared a great deal with you today,” Guinevere said, folding her hands in her lap. “It is…a lot to take in.”

                “If it is for me to hear, I cannot imagine how it has been for you to experience.”

                “At least I’ve had it spread out over more time,” Guinevere said with a small smile. “I’ve had more time to process.”

                “How _are_ you, Gwen? I can’t believe I have not yet asked. Are you alright?” Deshanna’s eyes drifted to the anchor. Guinevere’s hand curled up.

                “I’m okay,” Guinevere said gently. “It is as you said, I suppose—this will always be a part of me. I can only deal with it as best I can.”

                “And this elf—this Solas—are you alright about that?” Guinevere heaved a low sigh.

                “As alright as I can be, keeper. It…hurts. But time heals all wounds. Two years, it…does not feel like very long, comparatively. It seems like yesterday Corypheus perished.” Deshanna nodded methodically, and helped herself to more tea.

                “I see you have matured since I saw you last,” she said. Guinevere, exhausted with talking, said nothing else, but cradled her cooling cup of tea.

                “I’m very glad you came,” she said after several minutes of silence, where Deshanna did not press her to speak. “I…I’ve missed you, _hahren._ And all the clan. Being apart from you has felt like missing a part of myself.”

                “You’re a good child, Guinevere.” Deshanna reached out and placed a hand over Guinevere’s right hand. “And I have missed you too, _lethallan._ I had grown used to your company, and you were old enough for me to even heed some of your counsel. I did not realize how much I had begun to rely on you already until you were no longer there.” She rubbed Guinevere’s hand. “And I’m sorry. I never could have imagined that the task I gave you would grow into all this. I never would have sent you.”

                “Don’t be sorry,” Guinevere said firmly. “Everything happened as the gods meant it to. And I’ve survived all of it.” She gave Deshanna a reassuring smile. “And now I am ready to come home.” A tender smile dawned on Deshanna’s face, spreading ear to ear.

                “Your brothers will be delighted,” she said. “As will the clan.” She rose to her feet, and Gwen followed. “I look forward to welcoming you home.” She embraced Guinevere and they stayed that way for some time. Guinevere closed her eyes, and a feeling so desperate washed over her it nearly choked her—anticipation of returning home, she thought. It had been so long, and there had been so much between her and home that her mind could barely comprehend being on the final stretch of her marathon.

                “I look forward to it too,” she whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> Keeper Istimaethoriel: Oh you removed the vallaslin, did you? You'll have to give me the spell to take back.  
> Guinevere: 😬
> 
> You know what the keeper's never seen? The spell for removing vallaslin. You know what she has seen? Murals of elves having their vallaslin removed. 
> 
> And Gwen is 100% in denial about going back to her old life--it just takes another world-ending threat to shake her out of it.
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://imakemywings.tumblr.com/post/183374740340/interlude)


End file.
